


Heavy In Your Arms

by personal_jesus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ginny/Blaise mentioned, M/M, PTSD, Pansy/a random ravenclaw, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, eighth year, i just love florence welch so much, love/hate relationship a little bit, slight alcoholism????, this turned out not the way i expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personal_jesus/pseuds/personal_jesus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry rememered eighth year in Hogwarts more like bottles of FIrewhiskey hidden by Hermione, PTSD and Malfoy's unsteady feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Heavy In Your Arms](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/202633) by gallifrey_franky_12. 



> I'm basically translating my own work from Russian, so feel free to tell me about the mistakes i've made?? Yeah, right. This fic is completely random, but i hope you enjoy!

Pansy is hugging a Ravenclaw, whose name Draco didn't remember at all — they have just had the Connection. Connection is a burst of energy that two Soulmates have when some guys from above finally decide that it's time for people to know with whom they'll have their happily ever after. Malfoy had always thought that Soulmates's bond is quite overrated: those couples were always rather weird. Pansy and that girl, for instance. The first one is an aristocratic gossip holding onto traditions so tightly that Draco was surprised sometimes. The second one is a constantly swearing genius, a Mudbloods' fierce defender in whose short hair you could find really small pencils and little pieces of paper with weird formulas. 

Draco wanted to vomit from all the loving stares they were giving to each other. He wanted to vomit from the identical marks on their skin, too. 

He timidly rubbed his forearm. 

***

"Watch where you're going, Zabini!" 

Truth be told, both Draco and Pansy knew that Blaise did this on purpose. Ginny knew that, too. And she probably knew what would have come after.

Connection.

Draco wanted to scream. 

***

The war couldn't leave without a sign. Every Hogwarts student was gulping down the potions from anxiety and paranoia, most of them had PTSD and depression. 

It had the strongest impact on Potter and that's what everybody seemed to notice. 

A lot of people had exalted him to the level of someone like Alexander the Great for winning over Voldemort, which made him roll his eyes while Dean was jokingly quoting Nick Cave:

"He's a god, he's a man, he's a ghost, he's a guru..." 

Dean was obvoiusly joking, but many of them really thought that, especially kids that came to school after the war had ended. The crowd fans made to get the hero's autograph had become lesser only when it came to Christmas. 

Meanwhile, Potter had no one to save. He was raised like pig for slaughter that remained alive for some reason. 

He had no one to hate, no one to kill, no one to fight against. He knew that soldiers that came back from a long-lasting war felt the same and, in the end, they were likely to end up in jail, if they haven't ruined themselves by drink to that point. 

Hermione was hiding the alcohol. And then, giving him an apologetic smile, she was leaving to see Ron that didn't understand his Potions homework again. 

Harry didn't blame her.

He kept on finding the bottles anyway. 

***

"Wow. Decided to become an alcoholic, Potter?"  
"Scram out of here, ferret."  
"I'm sober enough to walk peacefully from here, thank you very much," Draco saluted him with an almost full bottle of Firewhiskey. Harry laughed. 

He didn't remember how long he was lying there until Draco came. It was really warm by the lake and Hermione didn't hide the alcohol well enough. Harry suspected she didn't really care by that point — all her attempts were nothing but helpless anyway. 

"I can ask you the same qustion, by the way," Harry mumbled.  
"You haven't even answered mine yet."  
"I hate you."  
"I hate you more," Draco kicked him in the ribs, "Move."  
"No, I seriously do. Can you be less of an asshole at least for now?"  
"Potter."  
"What? Jesus, you annoy me so much, I even have that irrational urge to beat the shit out of you, I don't really know why, though, but..."  
"Can you maybe move?" Draco interrupted his angry expatiation by kicking him in the ribs once again. Harry grudgingly did so.  
"Can I continue?"  
"Only when you're sober."

Harry gave him a mirthless chuckle and took a shot.

"Suffering from hero complex too?"

Draco opened the bottle and lied by his side. 

"What do you mean?"  
"Well, that's why you started drinking as well? The war is over and there's basically nothing left to do. I've been prepared to fight for my whole life. Then I was shown that I was destined to die first. And now here I am, alive and breathing, the war is won and I've no idea what to do next," Harry replied in a hoarse voice.  
"Um, no. I just didn't want to do my Potions homework."  
"Oh, fuck you," Potter took a sip again, almost finishing his bottle. 

Draco had really despised him. A little while. Over the years this despite had transformed into basic jealousy, and from jealousy into latent adoration with a hint of hatred. He hated his outrageous hair, bright green eyes and perfect jawline. He hated the fact that it was a complete cliche even more. He hated himself for stucking in this so bad. But hating so many things so much was pretty exhausting, so he just hated Potter. At least he tried. 

"I have a little daddy's boy complex," he snapped. "I used to deify him, you remember it yourself, just like those first years deified you at the beginning of the year. His every word was sacred. All his speeches were my catechism. I had to dress, to talk, to look at everyone like he did. I had to read books he read. I had to keep a posture the way he did. I implicitly did everything he told me to until the sixth year. Something like this never goes away unnoticed." 

"What happened then?" 

"Then I saw him on the raid," Draco smiled bitterly and took his bottle of Firewhiskey again. Harry gulped and looked away from him. It didn't take him long to continue. " There was no glimpse of emotion in his face. He was acting like a machine, killing everyone in his way. While Lord was looking, of course. Whenever Lord turned away, he was running away in shame, in order to avoid looking in the eyes of women that somehow managed to make it alive and whose husbands, brothers and sons he had just killed. It was the moment I realized that I was imitating the one who was trying to imitate the Lord. That kind of disgust for both me and him is problematic to express. 

Harry was silent for a long time. Draco instantaneously regretted telling that. Especially to Potter. Especially to _drunk_ Potter. 

"Do you think dying a good man is better than living a scum?" Harry suddenly asked.  
"Gryffindors' and Slytherins' concepts of morality differ a lot, Potter."  
"A scum is still a scum even in Ravenclaw, Malfoy. I just don't know who I am anymore. I don't who you are now, too."  
"Definitely not the one you tell about your complexes, Potter."  
"You don't trust yourself so much?"  
"I don't trust anybody." 

Harry sat, crossing his feet, He was shaking a little. 

"You know, I envied you my whole life. Didn't really admit that to myself, though, but I did. You had alive parents, enormous amount of money, you weren't likely to live in the cupboard. I doubt that you ever lacked food or was locked under the staircase for days, but... I'm sorry. I really didn't know. I never took your imitation game seriously, to be honest. I always thought that there's literally nothing you can worry about: you had a secure future, your family was respected in society, you would have probably married a girl from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Greengrass, for example, but... I never thought living on the other side of the barricade can be that hard. 

"You were locked in a cupboard?"  
"Well, I lived there until I was twelve," Harry replied and shrugged. Draco fell silent.  
"Did you really fight for someone who kept you in a cupboard?"  
"Not only for them, Malfoy. And I wasn't the only one fighting."

Draco lost count of how much he had drank by that point. And when Potter got up to leave and Draco got up to do the same, he realized how drunk he was. 

Everything was blurry and spinning, his hands and legs didn't obey him and he was already falling back on the grass when Potter's arms embraced him, not letting him fall. 

A sudden invisible pull, coming from both sides, shook them, charging them with energy of some kind. 

"Is that how Connection happens? Harry asked quietly, still holding Draco in his arms.  
"I don't know what man is up there and what's his poison, but," Draco muttered thickly, "but his sense of humor is terrible."  
"I realized how terrible his sense of humor was when we were in our fourth year," Harry laughed, "your Mark is a picture of deer horns. My Patronus is a deer. And my Mark is a Draco constellation. Ironic, this guy."  
"W-Why didn't you tell me?"  
"Would you listen?"

Draco didn't know if he should cry or laugh. The only thing Harry knew is that if he lets go of Draco, he will fall flat on the ground. 

Draco decided to laugh.


End file.
